


The Wolf and the Fox

by JadeCitrus



Category: The Wolf Among Us
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Fable Reader, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Other, POV Second Person, Rating May Change, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-29 06:28:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15067172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeCitrus/pseuds/JadeCitrus
Summary: "You two have history."All Fables knew one another at some point. All Fables had a history.Fabletown was built on that sense of community.Your history felt like it was a page ripped from a different book, a Fable that never made the Table of Contents.“Red fox, get me something to eat, or I will eat thee thyself.”The Sheriff of Fabletown and you had your history.Why can't history ever remain as just a book with a torn out page?❧A Reader-Insert fic taking place sometime after Season One of TWAU! You are The Fox, and somehow keep finding yourself compelled by The Big Bad Wolf himself.





	1. The Wolf had the Fox with him

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this idea for two whole days, and managed to crank out a chapter for what will hopefully be a regularly updated fic! I hope you like slow-burn. Because this right here is a slow-cooker cider set on low, babes. No sips just yet. Smel it.

**10:30 PM** **|** **Business Office**

 

“Quittin’ time!” Bufkin announces in a sing-song voice, recovering his partially emptied bottle of wine from its spot on the Deputy Mayor’s desk.   
Snow makes no effort to stop him from reclaiming the confiscated bottle. It was well past “quitting time”, and Bufkin had been a good sport about it.  
However, Snow still had some work to finish herself. With King Cole’s absence extended once more, she was left with a plate precariously stacked with even more duties alongside her own.

High-strung didn’t seem to do her current state of existence justice.

Fabletown’s census had always been a complicated procedure, all of it involving a significant amount of doing. It was never really just “Fabletown”, it was all Fables; recollecting details on their whereabouts, their occupation, their current state of being, et cetera, et cetera, ad nauseam. It required all available hands in the office, even the hands that usually didn’t process that much paperwork.   
  
Snow had spent the past couple of hours pouring over the papers scattered over her desk, this assortment being only a single drop in a pond compared to what had been done today. And what still had to be done.   
The sound of Bigby flicking his lighter pulls Snow away from her work, lifting her head and frowning; her brows knit together in frustration.   
“You know I don’t like you smoking out here. Keep it in your office, or put it out.” She orders brusquely. Truth be told, she didn’t care too much about him smoking out in the atrium of the business office, but she needed something to nitpick over that wasn’t paperwork.   


His deep-set frown and furrowed brow call her on her bullshit. Staring her down in defiance, Bigby takes a lengthy pull from his cigarette, exhaling through his nose in a huff. Snow wasn’t the only one tired of dealing with paperwork, and the day had steadily eaten away at the limited patience he had to begin with.

“I was just on my way out. S’cuse me.” He grumbles, turning to leave.   


“Wait!” Snow calls after him.   
  
The Wolf stops in his tracks, silently cursing the obedience trained into him after centuries of domestication.   
  
“I need a favor from you.”   


“Tough shit, work day is over.” He says, though it lacks any real bite, Bigby clearly not eager to start an argument.   
It’s about as close as Snow will get to “what do you want”, and they both know it.   


“I need you to make a house call for this one… it’s probably best if you’re the one to do it.” Snow sighs, holding a file out to him.   


Somehow, Bigby already knows who it is.   


“Why am I not surprised.” He says with no amusement in his tone whatsoever as he walks over, takes the manila folder from Snow, and gives it a once over. “I should just come in here and ask for it whenever we do the census to get it over with. It’s not like you ever ask anyone else.” He ashes his cigarette on the floor out of spite, looking at his superior over the file.    


“You two have a history together, I barely know them.” Snow insists, eyes briefly flicking to the ash on the floor, quickly deciding it wasn’t worth getting into.   


“A  _shitty_ history.” Bigby growls, closing the file.   


“History is history, Bigby.” She insists. “Besides, I’m pretty sure they’d slam the door in my face.”   


“I bet they would.” Bigby snorts sarcastically. “Especially considering you’ve made it pretty damn clear that y’ don’t trust ‘em.”   


“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” Snow says defensively, sitting up a little straighter at her desk.   


“It means exactly that, Snow. You don’t trust ‘em. What, are you gonna act like you do all of a sudden?”   


“It’s not that I don’t trust them but… they’re a flight risk, Bigby. You should understand that more than anyone. One slip up and they could expose all of us!” Snow argues, caught between pleading with him and anger.

  
“Case in point.” He frowns a little bit more, staring her down with more conviction as he ashes on the floor again.   
“I’ll head out now.” He says after a long-winded pause, leaving without further room for commentary.

 

**Sometime after Midnight... |**   **Liberty Luxe Apartments**

 

Something was off.   
You could feel it from the moment you stepped into the foyer of your apartment building.   
As far as Mundy apartments went, this was one of the better ones. Much better than your old apartment building, at the very least.  
In the short couple of months that you had lived here, not once in the small hours had you seen the person working the lobby asleep on the job. That wouldn’t have bothered you much on its own, but somehow you just knew there was something at play that couldn’t be accounted for. Something that made the short hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

Though you briefly grapple with the idea of waking them, you ultimately decide to head up to your apartment. If something was amiss, you didn’t want to be caught in the middle of it; you made an active effort to keep to yourself, the last thing you needed was attention.   


The higher the elevator climbs, the more jittery you feel, your instincts firing off ahead of your consciousness. You fidget as the elevator crawls to a halt, bolting through the sliding doors the second they’re open wide enough for you to pass. You waste no time treading down the hall with purpose, a hasty look is cast over your shoulder before you unlock your apartment door, step inside, and slam it shut behind you. 

With your back up against the door and a shaky exhale, you do your best to collect yourself.    
Your heart thuds heavily in your chest despite you willing it to slow -- What was wrong with you? Were allergies getting to you? Messing with your senses?

Just as you’re about to pass it off as a false positive, it hits you like a crisp slap to the face. You smell something.  __  
No, _someone_.  
You stride forward with the deliberate gait of a hunter, scouring your apartment with the eyes of a Fox; your real eyes, not the glamoured hues you wore to hide in plain sight. You bypass where the floorboards creak, sticking to the well-worn avenues made in your residence.   
Where were they?   
Your living space was an open-layout without many places to hide, they couldn’t possibly be hidden.   
Not for long, anyway.

Your pointed ears perk as the floorboards groan in response to a figure emerging from your bedroom.  And that’s all the prompting you need.

You don’t think -- you act.   
You take a concise moment to calibrate your stance before taking a calculated pounce. Using your full weight to tackle the intruder to the ground, the two of you fall to the floor, and you easily take your position over them in their surprise. They were larger than you, but you succeed in pinning them to the floor with one knee in their stomach and the other pressed into their chest. Your claws have long since emerged, and you don’t care to be gentle in your frantic grappling, digging your nails in where you find purchase.   
  
You snarl and growl, your heartbeat thrumming in your ears, drowning out the growls of your intruder as you push your claws into their face.   


“ **_SCOUT._ ** ”   


Your name. Not your Mundy name either, your  _real_  name.   
It brings you up short, catching you off guard just long enough for the interloper to throw you off of them.    
You roll as your back hits the floor, quickly scurrying over to turn on the closest light, your chest heaving with effort.   


Your eyes come to focus on the man before you -- no, not a man -- calling him a man did humanity a disservice.

What stood in your living room was a beast.

A beast like you.


	2. Then the Fox answered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Bigby have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad you're here for Chapter Two! Updates and posting may not always be this frequent, but I'll be doing my best! So, assuming you've caught on, Reader/Your name is "Scout Fox"! I feel like (y/n) would take away from the narrative of the story, so I chose something Fox-like and gender-neutral! However, you are free to imagine the Fox however you would like! Anyways, enjoy the chapter!

**Approaching 1 AM… | Scout Fox’s Apartment  
  
**

Bigby Wolf. 

He tosses his head like a dog shaking off a sneeze, the dark fur on his face slowly receding from view as he shifts back to a slightly more “human” shape.    
“Was all that  _ really  _ necessary?” He drawls, shoulders slumping, doing his best to bring down any visible threat.    


You groan, dragging your hand down your face, unsure as to whether you’re relieved, or further aggravated. “Says the one who broke into my apartment. Just--” You huff, pinching the bridge of your nose before dropping your hand to rest on your hip. “--What the hell are you doing here?” 

“You’re not very easy to find, you know.” He says, dodging your question.

“That’s kind of the point.” You brush past him to head into your bedroom, you make it a point to knock into his shoulder as you do.    
You untie your worn-in boots and kick them off one at a time, each boot hitting your closet door with a resounding “thud”.    
It makes you feel a little better.    
  
Despite the fact that your were still bristling with anger, you head into your bathroom to retrieve the untouched first-aid kit from beneath your vanity. It wears a thin layer of dust, which was nothing compared to the heavy winter coat of dust it had prior to your move.    
Returning from whence you came, you stop in the doorway to your bedroom to fix Bigby with the most demanding glare you can muster, and point at the barstools lined at the counter behind him.    
“Sit.” You order, raising a brow at the slightest hint of dissent. You don’t leave any room for argument, and both you and Bigby know that there wouldn’t be a point. 

He takes a seat, and so do you, using your foot to turn his stool so he’s facing you. You drop the kit on the counter, your brows remaining furrowed in a mixture of concentration and frustration as you retrieve some gauze.    
Sitting beside him like this, your knees touch his, and you could feel his breath, but the proximity doesn’t bother you; there was a time when your throat had nearly been crushed in his maw. The two of you were well passed a formality like personal space.    


You grab Bigby by the chin, which elicits a grunt from him (that you ignore), and start blotting the blood away from the scratches you had left on his face. You’re silent as you work, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than the storm of questions brewing in your head. You know yourself well enough to hold your tongue, you needed to cool off, or it would all come out like a hurricane. 

“You don’t gotta do this.” Bigby argues, to which your response is to grip his chin a little bit tighter. 

“Do you want an infection?” You challenge as you toss the now bloodied gauze onto the counter. You release his chin for a moment, long enough for him to grab his Huff n’ Puffs, and knock one loose.    
Before the butt of the cigarette can reach his mouth, you grab the pack, and toss it out of reach, earning a growl from Bigby.    
“Building has a no smoking policy. Like hell I’m gonna lose my deposit for you to have your third cigarette in the past half hour.” 

“Still as charming as I remember.” 

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere with me, Wolf.” You say dryly, grabbing his chin once more, dousing the affected areas of his face with disinfectant. 

Bigby lets out a hiss through his less-than-Mundy teeth, eyes briefly flashing yellow, but he doesn’t flinch away, allowing you to continue doting over him.    


 

“Snow sent me over. Fabletown Census.” He says after a few moments of silence, bringing you to pause. “At risk of getting another claw to the face, you ever thought of just…” He cuts himself off, clearing his throat, and looking everywhere but at you before he continues. “Just moving into the Woodlands?”  

“Miss living with me that much? I’m touched.” You mock with a scoff, going back to tending his wounds. “No. I haven’t. No one wants me there.” 

He opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off with a little tut, giving his head a shake with the grip you have on his chin. “Don’t lie to me and say that you do.” You smile as you turn his head this way and that, dropping your hand when you deem his wounds properly cared for. The smile dissolves as quickly as it appeared. “There aren’t any pancakes for me to steal for you here.” The joke falls flat.    
  


You gather up the balled up gauze on the counter and shut the first-aid kit, going to pick it up to return it to its home under your bathroom sink.    
Bigby’s calloused hand covers yours to stop you from moving away.    
Despite having just manhandled him, you’re not used to being touched. Not by him. Not like that. You snatch your hand away too fast, knocking the first aid kit and its contents to the floor.

Casting a glum look at the mess, you slowly fix your glare on Bigby, always a master of quietly conveying your distaste. Whether you picked that up from him, or he from you, you weren’t entirely sure. 

You know that his patience is wearing thin, yet you still have to silently express admiration over the fact that he still hasn’t snapped at you. Maybe time and service has softened the old boy up.    
Bigby takes a deep breath to center himself before he addresses you.    
“Listen, Scout. Things are different now. We’re not just Fables dicking around the Homelands anymore.” He gestures vaguely around, his gaze finally falling on you. “Most of us have left the past behind us, it’s about time that you did, too. Not everyone--”

“Not everyone  _ what _ .” You cut him off, challenging his logic before he could even lay it out for you to properly poke holes in. 

“Not everyone still thinks I’m some kind of trickster? Some untrustworthy, slippery--  _ ugh _ \--I don’t have anyone in Fabletown, Bigby. I’m not trying to be some kind of martyr here, okay?” You release the tension pulled taught in your shoulders, cursing silently at the ache left in its wake.    


Hopping off of the stool, you begin picking up the scattered materials of your first-aid kit.    
Bigby hesitates for a moment, before joining you, helping you gather everything off the floor. 

 

“Can we address how fucked up it is that Snow still somehow thinks that sending you is any better than sending. I don’t know. The Huntsman over?” You say in an attempt to decrease the tension, unable to stand the silence any longer. 

“ _ But you two have history. _ ” Bigby leers, making you laugh, albeit bitterly. “I’m not saying I’m any better. But you’re probably better off with me anyway. Huntsman’s a jackass.”    
You actually do smile at that. 

With a huff, you drop a roll of compression tape into the first-aid kit, and decide to just stay seated on the floor. You’d get up eventually, but sitting on the floor felt on par with your current emotional state. 

“I’ll bite. Why is Snow pressing you to get me over there?” 

 

The Wolf looks uncharacteristically sheepish as he joins you, resting his hands awkwardly in his lap, like he didn’t know what to do without a cigarette pinched between his fingers. “She’s just… Look, she’s just got a hard time wrapping her head around…” He struggles with his words, rolling over his options before he says something that might set you off.    
“You and I changed after the Exodus, you know? We’re not just beasts, eating children, and--”

“Huffing and puffing?” You interject, unable to resist a bit of light teasing. 

“I-- sure.” He shoots you a look, but continues. “Snow knows that, but she’s just… nervous knowing that you’re surrounded by mundies while being… well, you.” 

There are a few choice words that sit heavy in your mouth, but you settle for a click of your tongue, chewing on your thoughts for a moment while you process what Bigby had just told you. You weren’t hurt, that would require having expected anything less from someone who hasn’t bothered to speak to you in nearly half a century. Insulted, perhaps; insulted that she had the bar of expectations from you set so low, it might as well be a floorboard. 

 

“Let the record show that I have  _ never _ eaten any children.” Is what you settle on saying first. You take a deep breath, puff it out, and continue. “I’ll come in for the Census, but--”

“Wait, really?” Bigby interjects, making you cross your arms. “Sorry.” 

“I’ll come in for the Census, but that’s  _ it _ . I’m not moving into the Woodlands.” 

“I honestly wasn’t even gonna ask you to come in, but! Since you offered.” He grunts with some effort as he goes to stand, making a show of wiping some imaginary dust off of his pants, and straightening his loose tie. “I s’pose I’ll see you tomorrow.” He says with a nod, offering you a hand. 

You slap him a high-five, and pick yourself up off the ground with relative ease, taking the first-aid kit with you.    
Bigby fumbles with his wallet for a moment, before offering you a card for Fabletown’s taxi service.

“My number’s on the back. I’ll see you around or, whatever.” He says dismissively, claiming his cigarettes, and heading towards the door. “Please, don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

“Do you  _ want  _ me to fuck up your face again?” 

“Point taken.” 

 

“See you, Wolf.” You follow a distance behind him, watching him reach your door. 

“Fox.” He turns to give you a nod, pausing, like he had something else to say, before shaking his head, and leaving. 

 

All things considered, that was probably the nicest you two had ever been to one another. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please give kudos if you liked it!! Comments and constructive criticism welcome!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my darling chickens that got me into TWAU, supported my ideas, and Beta read this for me. You are all my Dwayne, my Rock, my Johnson.  
> Kudos, comments, and genuine critiques are all welcome and appreciated!  
> Chapters will come as I am available to write and post them!


End file.
